


Picking up the Pieces

by vienn_peridot



Series: Eta Carinae 230 [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alien Culture, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Other, Paint Stripping, Polyamory, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Survivor Guilt, Whipping, algolagnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Overlord's rampage and defeat Rodimus' Cohort is in ruins.<br/>This is how those who remain help each other heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that Roddy is in a really toxic headspace at the start of this fic. It may not be a very comfortable read for at least the first 3 chapters.

# One

“Rodimus?”

The unwelcome voice was muffled by his door and Rodimus firmly ignored it. It wasn’t anyone he wanted to hear, it wasn’t any of the voices he’d never hear again.

__It’s happening again._ _

Rodimus was on his knees, forehelm pressed against the wall. The wall panelling just above his helm was covered with dents where he’d tried to vent his rage and self-loathing in a way that wouldn’t hurt anyone else.  Trashing his office hadn’t been enough and after pounding some dents into the wall of his quarters it had finally dawned on him that having the places that were ‘his’ thoroughly destroyed wasn’t punishment enough for his crimes.

Too many people already hurt because of him. Too many dead.

 _It’s all my fault_.

His Cohort was in ruins, fractured and divided because of his cowardice. His spark hurt; the discord and loss of stability within the core of his Cohort gnawed at him alongside the pain of losses both old and new.

_I shouldn’t have done that. Beating up the walls won’t bring them back. I shouldn’t have let him take the blame. I should have tried harder, should have protected everyone. It’s all my fault._

“Rodimus, I know you’re in there.”

_So you know I’m ignoring you. Frag off, Rung._

“I’m not going away this time.” Rung said patiently. “You have exactly three options. Let me in or I’ll override the door and come in anyway.

_…Wait._

“That’s only two.” Rodimus retorted, realising as he said it that he’d been tricked.

Rung had the good grace not to laugh at him.

“You come with me to my quarters. We –your Core- can all feel what this has done to you and none of the others feel capable of giving you what you need right now.”

He was right.

_Rewind. Magnus. Drift. It’s all my fault._

“And what do _you_ think I need, genius?” Rodimus snarled.

 _Leave me alone_.

“You wish to make amends; to do atone for not being able to prevent the harm that has been done.” Rung’s voice was low, his words dropping like stones into Rodimus’ consciousness. “You also need a distraction from events you cannot control. To feel… something other than what you currently do. I am the only one who is able to aid you without incurring harm myself.”

_The only one of us left that can._

The unspoken words hung in the air, holding the potential to shatter more than the uncomfortable silence.

“And you’re also the only one who can kick my aft through a closed door.” Rodimus said without heat.

It was true, after all.

All of it.

Rung remained silent while Rodimus fought with himself. He wanted, _needed_ what Rung was offering so badly his struts ached and his Spark yearned towards the door. Still, Rodimus wasn’t sure he should accept Rungs offer because he didn’t think he deserved to feel better. Not after what he’d done, letting Drift take the fall and willingly tearing the foundations of their Cohort apart.

_Even if they can somehow manage to forgive me one day, I’m never going to forgive myself._

Rodimus fought with himself. He was about to refuse when a small, tired sound from the other side of the door changed his mind. Rung was a psychiatrist, not a medic. He probably didn’t know that some of the airflow sensors in Rodimus’ spoiler could –and often did- act as extra audio pickup.

Rung was hurting too; they all were.

 _Even if_ I _don’t deserve to feel better, I can’t keep doing this to the others. It’s bad enough with Drift and Ultra Magnus gone without me hurting them, too._

Using the wall for leverage, Rodimus pushed himself to his pedes and dragged his weary frame over to the door. When he opened it Rung was still there; looking up through those unreadable eyeglasses and tenser than Rodimus had ever seen him. Rodimus kept his EM Field tight to his frame, not feeling strong enough to face the truth of his cohort-mate’s emotional state.

Rung politely ignored the obvious dents in the wall.

“So, your place then?” The Captain said, aiming for a cheerful tone and falling flat.

“Certainly.” Rung’s relief was obvious, his entire frame relaxing.

Rodimus immediately felt worse for having caused the usually calm mech so much anxiety. Together they turned and headed in the direction of Rung’s quarters. The corridors were unnaturally empty, the remaining crew were either in their habsuites or at Swerve’s, denouncing Drift or trying to recover from the mental and emotional aftermath of Overlord’s rampage.

 _The war is_ over _. They were supposed to be_ safe _. I was supposed to_ keep _them safe and I failed._

The silence weighed on Rodimus. He decided to break it before it suffocated him.

“So how did you know about this, Specs?” Rodimus asked, “Is it one of those job-related things, like in my file or something?”

“In part, yes.” Rung admitted easily, before hesitating.

“And the other part?” The speedster prompted.

They were outside Rung’s habsuite now. The trip hadn’t seemed to take as long as Rodimus knew it should.

_Wow, I must be really out of it today._

The smaller mech let them in and ensured the door was firmly closed before turning a steady gaze on Rodimus from behind those pit-damned unreadable eyeglasses and answering.

“Ultra Magnus did come to me to discuss it, once.” Rung said gently. “He wished a more detailed explanation than you were able to give him. I have made a career out of understanding and putting the inner working of the mind into words for others to comprehend. I was able to put his concerns to rest.”

“He… did ask me about it.” Rodimus mumbled, staring blankly into the middle-distance. “I tried to explain but I wasn’t sure how well I managed it.”

“It is very difficult to take something you know on the level of Spark-deep instinct and put it into words so that someone without similar experiences can understand it.” Rung explained, putting a small orange-plated hand on Rodimus’ forearm. “From what Magnus told me, you did a fairly good job of explaining yourself to him.”

The mention of Ultra Magnus drew a broken noise from Rodimus’ vocaliser. He couldn’t look Rung in the optic. If he did he was going to shatter and not even Rung and Ratchet would be able to put all the little pieces of him back together again.

 _Magnus. I failed him. I failed_ everyone.

“Rodimus, please look at me.”

It took him a long time to get the courage to do so, but eventually Rodimus dragged his optics to Rung’s faceplates. They stared at each other for a long while in silence, Rung’s EM Field dense and patient, waiting for Rodimus to extend his own. A horrible realisation dawned on Rodimus

_Oh no, he only just began accepting us. And now…_

“Rung, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t _not_ say it; additional guilt piling on top of what he already carried “We were courting you and I _pushed_ you and now this has happened. Slag,  _slag_ , Rung I sh-”

“That is _enough_.” Rung’s voice was sharper than Rodimus had ever heard it. “Rodimus; listen to me. Yes, mistakes were made however _nobody_ could have seen this coming. Hindsight is perfect and mecha most definitely are not. You _cannot_ protect everyone from the consequences of their actions. In fact it would be distinctly unhealthy for them if you were to do so.”

“But…” The frown on Rung’s face killed Rodimus’ response before it left his vocaliser.

“This is as far as I’m going to go into dissecting the past today, Rodimus. This one point and then we’re going to put it where it belongs –in the _past_ \- and leave it there. If you _hadn’t_ pushed me to accept you, where do you think you’d be now?”

Rodimus cycled his optics, staring uncomprehendingly at Rung as he tried to parse the question. The smaller mech’s EM Field was unyielding, matching the implacable look on his faceplates that was more than a match for any glare Ultra Magnus had ever given him.

“Trashing my habsuite.” The speedster mumbled, “Avoiding everyone.” He couldn’t meet Rung’s optics. “Trying to figure out what I could have done differently, how I could have kept everyone safe.”

“While those are all perfectly understandable actions, they would _not_ have helped and in fact would only have served to make you feel worse.” Rung said firmly, reaching up to grab Rodimus’ chinplate and force the taller mech to look him in the optics. “Instead we are here as Cohort, to support and aid each other as Cohort _must_ if we are to survive.”

“We?” Rodimus asked, confused. Perceptor wasn’t speaking to him right now, so that meant… “You mean Ratchet too?”

If Rodimus was going to be honest with himself he was more than a little scared of Ratchet’s reaction. Drift had been to Ratchet what Magnus was to Rodimus. Combine that loss with the lies they’d told the crew and toss in Ratchet’s formidable temper and you had a situation the Captain wanted to avoid dealing with for as long as he could possibly get away with. Forever, if he could swing it.

The habsuite door opened and Ratchet entered, startling Rodimus so badly he fell into a defensive posture before he could regain control of himself.

“Yes, he means Ratchet too.” The medic said, having probably caught the end of Rodimus’ sentence and figured out the rest. “Like it or not, we’re kinda stuck together. The three of us are basically all who’s left of your Core and we need each other, simple as that.”

As he spoke, Ratchet moved to stand beside Rung, forcing Rodimus to face the remaining members of his Cohort.

_Uh-oh._

“I’ve been around long enough to know when someone isn’t telling the whole truth, kiddo. I’m not going to ask because frankly there are some things you’re better off not knowing.” Ratchet snorted and Rodimus just cycled his optics in shock as Ratchet continued, “But I _am_ willing to bet good shanix that it involved Drift being a self-sacrificing idiot and a whole lot of stupid accidents.”

That was scarily close to the truth. Ratchet looked extremely entertained by the blank expression on Rodimus’ faceplates, and even Rung’s mouthplates twitched a little.

“Oh close your mouth before you pop the jaw hinge.” Ratchet said with a roughly affectionate brush of his EM Field. “At some point I _will_ hunt Drift down and kick his aft, but for now we need to sort ourselves out.”

“Indeed we do.” Rung said softly, nudging Rodimus’ jaw closed with one small finger. “What do you need, Rodimus? To restabilise yourself within your Cohort.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roddy's head is still a nasty place to be. Please take care.

# Two

It was hard for Rodimus, being forced to say it out loud.

To put what he needed into words.

He had explained it exactly once before.

It had been to Ultra Magnus early in their Cohort courtship, once it became clear that they would both be in the command structure and thus become close Cohort by default he knew the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord would need to know at least one of the ways Rodimus dealt with his darkness. It had happened well before they ever left Cybertron but the memory file was still fresh and clear in Rodimus’ processors, including the entertaining faces Magnus had made when he understood.

Drift had never needed an explanation.

The Swordsmech had seen the state Rodimus was in just after the absolutely appalling start to their mission and how he changed after a ‘meeting’ with Ultra Magnus. _Drift had understood._ Next time things went sour Drift had intercepted Rodimus and hauled him off for a ‘sparring session’ that was more Rodimus attacking in blind fury and Drift casually beating him all around the training room with the flat of a blade until the Captain simply couldn’t move any more.

Rodimus took a deep invent, trying to force aside the slightly hysterical urge to laugh at the realisation that _yes he was about to ask Ratchet and Rung to do this_.

“What you said before, Specs.” Rodimus started with a pretty good attempt at his usual confidant tone but lost it towards the end as his voice wobbled and shattered into static. “Basically… I need… to do penance.”

He couldn’t look at either of the mechs in front of him but he felt their EM Fields reaching for his. They hummed with age and the experience that comes with it, cradling him in the support of _Cohort_. Unable to resist any longer, the younger mech eased the tight control over his own Field a little so the edges mingled with theirs in a three-part harmony that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

_It’s different but it’s_ sorta _the same_.

“Why?”

It was Ratchet who asked. Even with Field contact Rodimus couldn’t tell if the medic was asking for the sake of formality, if he really didn’t know or if he already knew but still needed to hear it from Rodimus all the same. He reset his vocaliser before speaking to make sure his words would be clear.

“Good mechs are _dead_ because I couldn’t keep them safe, because I failed them. I failed them _again_. It’s my duty as their Captain and as a Prime to keep them alive and I wasn’t good enough to do that.” The speedster’s ventilation system hitched and static crept back into his voice but he kept going. “Drift is gone and M-Magnus… I can’t even protect my Cohort. I need to pay for that.”

When Rodimus finished speaking there was silence broken only by the sounds of their systems and the uneven lurching of his vents.  He could feel the older mecha discussing something over their comms, little ripples of their EM Fields giving them away even though their faceplates and frame language never changed. His optics tracked from Rung to Ratchet and back to Rung again, following the flow of the silent conversation. The silence became more oppressive the longer it dragged on.

“Wh-” Rodimus broke the silence. “What do you guys need?”

“Besides a fragging time machine?” Ratchet asked rhetorically. There was far less bitterness in his words than Rodimus expected. “I did all I could for Magnus and it still won’t be enough. Drift is currently too far away to chuck something at.” The CMO’s plating twitched like he was trying to shake something off. His vocalisations became rough. “Right now I _need_ to know that you two –what’s left of our Cohort- is still in one piece. _However_ that happens.”

A strangled little whimper broke from Rodimus’ vocaliser and his frame trembled.

_My fault. My fault it’s all gone._

Two fields pushed into Rodimus, working smoothly to stabilise the jagged EM flaring he just couldn’t control. The guilt and shame rising up to choke him was drawn away, tasted and analysed before the feeling of a solid, firm presence like a tall tree and a small granite boulder came back to him. He got the impression that while both were weathered by time they had deep roots.

_Wow, Earth_ really _got stuck in my processors._

“A-and you, Rung?” Rodimus’ voice was harsh wish static.

The small mech’s protective lenses flashed with reflected light as he briefly turned his gaze towards the floor before looking back up at the taller mechs.

“This… has indeed hurt me more than I realised.” He admitted in a low voice, forestalling Rodimus’ apologies with a strong pulse of his EM Field. “It has brought up memories that I thought I had already dealt with.”

“The Functionalist Council.” Rodimus dropped the glyphs into Rung’s silence with sudden understanding as his processors connected the dots.

His spark twisted when Rung nodded, trying to shrink into invisibility within its chamber.

_Oh no. Oh no no no._

“Indeed. While my first reaction was to flee, instead I wish to strengthen our ties as Cohort and to reassure my Spark -as well as the more irrational parts of my processors- that the current situation is most definitely _not_ a repeat of the last time I formed close Cohort bonds and that we are indeed bound beyond the ability of others to challenge or deny.”

“Rung, I-” Rodimus started, fresh guilt building in his field.

Rung’s eyebrows drew down and he gave Rodimus a hard look.

“ _Don’t_ apologise for something that isn’t your fault.” The small orange mech snapped, startling Rodimus. There was something hard in his Field, like old scars on protoform. “Now is neither the time nor the place to be dragging up more bad memories. I would greatly prefer to create new memories instead. Better ones, with _my_ Cohort.”

Rodimus trembled at the force in Rung’s vocalisations. He’d never heard the mech so angry before. Annoyed? Sure, plenty of times. But this kind of icy-cold rage was new and very, very scary.

“I know the kind of form your ‘penance’ takes, Speedy.” Ratchet said, breaking the stalemate between the other mechs. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you need right now. I can help afterwards, but the pain stuff… I just _can’t_.”

“Even though I am not as strong as Magnus, I am definitely capable of helping you now.” Rung said while Rodimus struggled to boot his vocaliser.

“’Sokay, Ratch’.” Rodimus said, his voice full of static. “I would like you to stay to witness though, if you can.”

“You should know by now that I don’t mind watching.” Ratchet’s EM Field prodded Rodimus’ own with exasperated affection. “You’re too damn pretty for your own good, even tied up and whimpering.”

“Perhaps _especially_ when.” Rung observed softly, drawing a shudder from Rodimus.

Ratchet rolled his optics.

“Look, whatever you two work out between you for tonight, all I ask is that there is no damage that I will need to repair. No open wounds. I’ve seen more than enough of them lately.”

Guilt, thick and black, rose to choke Rodimus. His optics dimmed as he remembered whose fault it was that Ratchet had seen so many injured mechs and whose fault it was that they were in Medbay and why Ratchet was here with Rung and himself instead of being used as a personal heating mattress by one of the missing members of their splintered Core.

A compromise that would hopefully satisfy both of them flashed into his processors.

“S-stripped paint?” It was more desperation than courage that allowed Rodimus to force the words out.

“ _If_ Rung agrees and _if_ you don’t take it to the point where you need more than a cosmetic touch-up afterwards.” Ratchet said firmly.

“I see no problem with that,” Rung said, placing a hand on Ratchet’s forearm. “You know I would not allow Rodimus to exceed his own physical limits, no matter how much he wants to.”

Suspicion at Rung’s easy acceptance abruptly crystallised into understanding as something clicked into place in the younger mech’s processors.

“Wait, you two already talked about this kind of thing, didn’t you?” Rodimus demanded, the uneven rhythm of his engine slipping and catching again.

“ _We_ didn’t.” Ratchet clarified with typical bluntness. “Magnus did.”

The reminder of the missing mech who’d been the stable foundation of his Core since before the ship launched took the strength from Rodimus’ leg struts. He crumpled to the floor, sinking first to his knees then sitting on his pedes as his legs simply refused to hold his weight.

“Ultra Magnus created a large number of contingency plans that cover almost every conceivable scenario.” Rung said gently, moving close enough to rub the speedster’s helm crest soothingly.

“And several that were so fragging outrageous if it was any other mech I’d swear he was drugged out of his brainpan when he came up with them.” Ratchet grumped in that almost-affectionate tone he used when teasing his Cohort.

“Be that as it may,” Rung said quellingly as Rodimus’ vents hiccupped and he leaned his helm against the orange mech’s thigh “In the vent of a situation similar to this, Magnus planned for whoever remained of the core would follow certain… instructions.”

“He _would_ do that.” Rodimus could almost imagine the exact titles Magnus would give each plan. So detailed they were basically a synopsis of the entire document. “The Crew? The Ship? What’s happening out there?”

Out there. Outside Rung’s quarters.

Right now everything ‘out there’ was intimidating and uncertain and he’d failed _everyone_ in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t face them.

“It’s pretty quiet right now; a lot of mecha are still in shock. By the time we get you on your pedes things should be picking up again. Perceptor and Skids are taking care of everything until we confirm that you are stabilised.” Ratchet said, “According to the rest of the crew I’m here shouting sense into you while Rung mediates.”

“That makes sense, if you know slag-all about how our cohort works.” Rodimus said bitterly.

“It is my understanding that Prime Cohorts have always been a little… Shall we say ‘contrary’ to the norm?” Rung chipped in.

The psychiatrist’s slim fingers worked their way down Rodimus’ crest in a soothing repetitive motion that was forcing some of the tension from his frame. He sighed gratefully, leaning against the smaller psychiatrist’s leg and letting his optics slip offline.

“Now, Rodimus.” Rung spoke again, tapping the top of the speedster’s helm lightly to get his attention. “Do you wish to discuss the outline Magnus left?”

A moment of thought and Rodimus shook his helm, feeling the metal of Rung’s thigh shift beneath his cheek.

“No, I don’t want to know this time. I trust you guys.”

He could _feel_ the disapproval radiating from both of them, tempered with some understanding from Rung.

“Alright, in light of that we will require two signals for this session.” The psychiatrist said, voice becoming stern although his hand never stilled on Rodimus’ crest. “This is non-negotiable, Rodimus. A word for when one of us wishes to pause and clarify something or ask a question outside of the headspace of the scene and another to bring everything to a stop. Any of us will be able to use either word at any time, do you understand? We are here to reknit ourselves, _not_ further strain our bonds as Cohort.”

“I understand.” Rodimus said.

He felt a gust of warm air brush over his spoiler as Ratchet cycled his vents.

“Pause… And _curtains_.”

Rodimus felt it was a surprisingly appropriate choice from the CMO, and the Earth term was outlandish enough that it should stop Rung dead in his tracks if he got carried away.

“That seems acceptable to me.” Rung traced a glyph on Rodimus’ helm the speedster didn’t recognise “Shall we?”

Rodimus nodded against the smooth metal of Rung’s thigh.

“Alright then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Ratchet and Rung are a bit annoyed at Rodimus for not asking which of Mags' plans they're using.  
> ~In this AU the Functionalists artificially inflicted close Cohort bonds on Rung as part of their attempts to find out what he is/what he does. It wasn't a happy time for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene begins.  
> Rodimus meets an angry dom!Rung for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! An update! I'm so sorry it's been so long. It took me far longer than I anticipated to be able to crawl back into Roddy's head in the state he's currently in at this point in the fic.  
> The final 2 chapters are all drafted and will go up over the next few weeks.

# Three

 

Rung ushered them into a room Rodimus had never seen before, placing a thick pad on the floor and ordering the speedster to assume a kneeling position on it. Rodimus did as directed, then held his hands out without being asked so Rung could cuff his wrists together. These cuffs were like none they’d used while playing together before; they were heavier and would be impossible for Rodimus to break. Once secured, his arms were then raised above his helm and held there by a hook hanging from the ceiling.

He wouldn’t have to hold his arms up by himself, but neither would he be able to lower them when he was tempted to relieve the strain on his joints.

In his peripheral vision he could see Ratchet go to seat himself on a padded bench along a side wall before Rung stopped him and directed the medic to pull the bench around so that he was directly in front of the kneeling Rodimus.

“You’re witness and monitor, remember?” The smaller mech murmured, just loud enough or Rodimus to hear, while Ratchet’s reply was too low for him to pick up over the scraping sounds of the bench. “I would like you to maintain Field contact with Rodimus and myself as well; it will help all of us, I think.”

Rodimus shivered beneath Ratchet’s impassive gaze as the medic took up his position, the little frown between his optic ridges deepening as he took in the sight in front of him. The CMO looked more like a judge than a witness, come to endorse the punishment Rung doled out to make sure Rodimus got what he deserved, instead of just observing his two Cohort-mates. The ambulance’s Field was carefully neutral when he allowed it to extend and Ratchet only allowed the shallowest of social contact by which to gauge his state. Rodimus already knew more-or-less what to expect from this scene; all of Magnus’ plans would no doubt follow the same basic structure of their own sessions; only the players and fine details would differ.

_And… what brought us here._

Vents hitching, Rodimus kept his optics on Ratchet and listened intently to the little sounds Rung made as he moved around somewhere just out of sight. Soft pedesteps approached from the side and the medic’s optics widened, lipplates parting slightly. Rodimus followed his gaze, turning his helm to see Rung standing several steps from him, a deep frown creasing his faceplates and a long, slender rod held casually in one hand. He had removed his glasses in order to view the speedster with his unaltered sight and from the thick disapproval in his Field the small orange mech did _not_ like what he saw.

Rodimus forgot about everything outside the room, forgot the ship and the crew and the still, grey frames in Medbay, even forgot about Ratchet watching despite the careful Field contact as his entire world narrowed to Rung and the sudden presence and authority the small mech exuded as he frowned, scrutinising every square micrometre of his erstwhile Captain’s frame with laser-like intensity

Carefully controlled anger slowly joined the disapproval Rung projected and Rodimus shivered, pulling his armour in tight to his protoform.

“So, what do we have here?” Rung asked at length, voice colder than the ice in Rodimus’ spark.

Rodimus didn’t know what was expected of him and stayed mute, optics tracking the swish of the cane as Rung tapped it against his thigh impatiently.

“I asked you a question!” Rung snapped, stepping uncomfortably close and using the tip of the cane to tilt Rodimus’ chin up so he was looking the orange mech directly in the optics.

“I… I don’t know.” His processor was frozen, caught between guilt and fear and somehow trembling with anticipation despite it.

 _Ok I_ really _shouldn’t have skipped the negotiation._

“You _will_ use full sentences when you speak to me and you will address me with _respect_ , do you understand?” The psychiatrist enunciated his words with exacting precision, his tone so cold now that it froze the energon in Rodimus’ lines.

“I understand, Sir.” He whispered, relishing the faint flash of approval in Rung’s optics that meant he’d done good.

“Excellent.” The single word was crisp and businesslike, giving Rodimus exactly the amount of praise he deserved and not one iota more. “So tell me, what are you?”

Rodimus had been given the freedom to define himself and to choose whether or not he did so in relation to Rung.

He didn’t even have to think about it.

The word was right there, echoing through his mind and scorching his spark with guilt.

“I am a failure, Sir.”

It hurt to say.

The word was unimaginably bitter in his vocaliser but there was relief in saying it out loud, getting it out in the open.

If Rodimus said it first it wouldn’t be so bad to hear others saying it, even behind his back. He acknowledged the truth, didn’t hide from it to protect his ego even though it burned him in a way no flame ever could.

“Oh?” Rung raised a single thick eyebrow, somehow managing to convey an entire world of clinical curiosity with that single gesture and an EM Field that swooped in to focus on Rodimus. “ _Explain_.”

“I let Prowl goad me into doing something I knew could go very badly. I was supposed to keep everyone safe and I didn’t. Rewind is _dead_ because of me. U-Ultra Magnus is _dying_ because of me. Drift is gone and it’s all my fault. I failed. I failed and people are dead and people are hurting and it’s _all my fault_. I’m a failure as a Prime and a Captain a-and I’m a failure as Cohort.”

Rung listened impassively as Rodimus poured out the litany of his sins, that singular eyebrow climbing higher as the speedster went on. Eventually Rodimus ran out of words and fell silent, optics fixed on the floor somewhere between Rung and Ratchet’s pedes.

“That is quite an impressive list of blunders.” Rung said, beginning to pace in a slow circle around Rodimus, just a little too far away now as if he didn’t want to get too close to the speedster in case he became contaminated by accident. “So if I understand correctly, in summary; you allowed yourself to be manipulated into placing the mechanisms under your command in danger, and then you failed to adequately protect them which resulted in multiple fatalities and the destruction of your own core Cohort, a _Prime_ Cohort. Is that correct?”

Rodimus nodded mutely, unable to raise his optics. He couldn’t face Ratchet; couldn’t even bear to look at the scuffed paint of the medic’s pedes. Rung was behind him now; he wouldn’t have been able to see him in any case.

“I couldn’t hear that.” Rung snapped, the cane rapping Rodimus smartly on the top of his helm.

It wasn’t a hard strike but the unexpected sting shot right through Rodimus, bringing his neural net singing to life.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” He said hastily, armour rippling.

A gentle hand soothed the tingling spot on his helm and Rodimus fought the urge to move away from it.

He didn’t deserve _any_ kind of comfort. None at all. As he didn’t want to further displease Rung, Rodimus held himself still and endured the too-gentle touch.

“Let me restate, then.” Rung’s voice wasn’t unkind as he moved away to resume his pacing. “You were manipulated into putting unknowing mecha at risk, mecha you were responsible for, mecha who depended on you to keep them safe. Then you failed to ensure adequate safety precautions and surveillance were maintained, resulting in many deaths and the collapse of your Cohort. Was that right?”

Rodimus inhaled deeply.

“It is, Sir. That was right.”

It hurt to say the words but it was the truth.

“And what could possibly make you think you can make reparations for lapses of that magnitude?” Rung’s voice was soft and dangerous. “What makes you think you can earn our forgiveness?”

Rodimus was hyperaware of the shifting air against his spoiler when Rung stepped up behind him, frame radiating heat and Field filled with deliberate cruelty as he pierced right to the core of Rodimus’ fears for himself and his Cohort. Choking on a sob, Rodimus raised his optics to Ratchet, silently begging for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

“I don’t, Sir.” He admitted. “I don’t think there’s anything I could ever do that would make up for it, but I have to _try_.”

Ratchet’s frame twitched ever so slightly, his helm dipping. He didn’t break optic contact with Rodimus, looking more trapped than the mech cuffed and chained in the middle of the room. He could help sending a quick text ping to the medic.

[You ok, Ratchet?]

[Fine, Speedy. I’ll let you know if I’m not.]

[Ok.]

“And this would be the logical place to start, by beginning the healing of your Core.” Apparently oblivious to the quick flutter of messages between the larger mechs, Rung continued speaking. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir. Whatever it takes.”

This seemed to satisfy Rung. He moved around the kneeling mech, coming to stand between Rodimus and Ratchet, capturing the speedster’s attention.

“And this is what will happen.” Rung proclaimed. “You will be whipped until I am satisfied that you are appropriately sorry; _not_ until you think you’ve been punished sufficiently.”

Ratchet’s approval of this filled his Field so strongly it was obvious even with the light contact he was maintaining.

 _I’m not_ that _bad, am I?_

“When I am satisfied with your penance we will see about repairing our Cohort bonds. Do you understand?”

Shivering all over, Rodimus nodded.

“I understand, Sir.”

“Then let us begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~See, Roddy? DON'T EVER NOT DISCUSS A SCENE AGAIN. Everyone is really off-balance and desperate to reconnect here, which is why they still went ahead when they probably shouldn't.  
> ~Rodimus has a tendency to push himself too hard when trying to expiate his guilt. His cohort is aware of this, which is why Rung reminds Rodimus that he will NOT thrash Roddy within an inch of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Punishment and a degree of forgiveness.

# FOUR

 

The first strike came out of nowhere, the cane catching Rodimus along one of his lateral transformation seams in a sudden burst of fire. He jerked away from it, engine revving as the slow aftermath of pain heated his frame.

The next blow was just as capricious as the first; a sharp smack just _so_ across his hip joint that woke his entire pelvic section and set him to craving.

“Interesting reaction.” Rung observed in a detached voice, as if he hadn’t known about this quirk of Rodimus’ frame from the start of the courting process.

Belatedly, Rodimus realised that the orange mech had moved behind him. Worried, he tried to twist his helm around to look over his shoulder, to gauge Rung’s frame language, to anticipate where the cane would fall next. Rung didn’t give him the opportunity, switching him _hard_ on either side of his waist armour. Three blows in quick succession, left-right-left, stinging shots on thin plating and the delicate edges of biolights strips. Rodimus moaned, pain that felt an awful lot like pleasure rippling through his frame.

He could see Ratchet’s optics widening at whatever was carried on his Field. Rodimus was sinking too fast to be entirely sure _what_ he was projecting anymore.

Pain, pleasure, disgrace, relief; it was all the same to him now.

With optics and attention fixed on the interesting expression on Ratchet’s faceplates, Rodimus almost didn’t hear the thoughtful hum Rung voiced before he began the whipping in earnest.

Within minutes Rodimus was lost, his entire world the unpredictable blows of the cane to sensitive parts of his armoured frame and the haze of pain that filled him, growing to become the totality of his existence. It was like driving at his top speed through one of the violent hailstorms of Earth; the cane caused more pain than damage as Rung launched a calculated assault that quickly overwhelmed his sensornet until he burned with agony.

Every time he cried out at the pain Rodimus could feel vicious satisfaction winding through Rung’s Field. He didn’t know how much of it was real and how much was manufactured to preserve the illusion of their scene but it encouraged the speedster to be more vocal than normal, giving Rung the satisfaction of _knowing_ that he was hurting. He offlined his optics and focused on his frame, focused on the pain and giving Rung the reactions his Cohort-mate needed.

Inevitably Rodimus felt himself becoming aroused under the blows, his neural circuitry registering some part of the punishment as pleasure and yearning for more. It hadn’t always been this way. Ever since that horrible eternity of drifting through space with nothing but the Matrix for company he had been like this. He didn’t want it this time, only wanting to hurt in reparation for what he’d done.

_Don’t deserve to feel good. Not right now._

A hard strike to the sensor suite between his spoilers had Rodimus shouting and writhing on the end of the chain, trying to twist into and away from the pain that felt as good as someone slamming into his valve. Rung pursued him mercilessly, lashing his quivering and sensitive spoilers with blows that felt like they were being dealt by an electro-whip instead of a springy, flexible rod.

He wasn’t sure he could endure the punishment for much longer but the sense of failure chewing at his Spark demanded he be punished more, harder, _more_. Red and gold armour rattled, autonomics torn between the instinct to protect vulnerable substructure from the cane and the need to vent the excess heat that was building in the speedster’s core. Every nervecircuit throbbed, Rodimus dreading the next blow even has he yearned for it.

Distantly he knew he was babbling something but he had no idea what, Rodimus could have been begging for more or pleading for Rung to stop or even reciting the entire Tyrest Accord from start to finish; it was all the same to him in that one endless moment.

Eventually the tension coiling within Rodimus neared a peak, Rung expertly knocking matching chips of paint off the tips of his shivering spoilers with two expert snaps of his wrist.

Desperate pleading became a muffled keen and the speedster tensed, swaying on his knees, bracing himself for the next blow, one that he _knew_ would send pleasure-pain cascading through his frame in a scalding wave.

He wanted, _needed_ it to happen; needed Rung to continue caning him through it until his paint came away in strips and every strike felt like acid on bare circuitry.

It didn’t come and Rodimus pleaded with his Field, desperate for punishment.

Two soft taps right in the centre of his chestplates; one his Autobrand, the over his spark chamber.

Rodimus whimpered in confusion, desperate for the resumption of true pain, not this stinging full-frame heat broken only by the occasional throb of a bruised sensor.

“Your Spark please, Rodimus.” Rung’s voice came from in front of him, close to the kneeling speedster’s faceplates.

 _I don’t understand_ was what he wanted to say but his chesplates split obediently, no longer caring what happened so long as he got what he felt he deserved.

The smaller mech was standing so close Rodimus could feel the warm gust of his vents over delicate internal workings, almost thought he could feel them over the crystal housing his life force as it moved obediently forward to place his very existence in the hands of his Cohort.

He shivered all over when he heard Ratchet stand and walk towards him, the ambulance’s frame creaking slightly as he moved.

_Have to get him into an oilbath one of these days. Sounds like he needs one._

“Ratchet, what do you see?” Rung asked.

“I see a caring spark, one that tries very hard and sometimes doesn’t think things through,” The words sounded a little rehearsed, as if Ratchet had known the question was coming and had spent a lot of time thinking about his answer. Despite this, the painful honesty in the medic’s words brought tears to Rodimus’ optics as he continued. “But one that learns from those mistakes and tries to do better. I see recklessness and warmth and caring, a Spark I am proud to have in my Cohort.”

A low keen worked its way out of Rodimus’ vocaliser. As much as he wanted to argue he was too worn out by pain and grief to do anything but accept the judgement.

“I concur.”

Gentle fingers traced a glyph over the crystal of Rodimus’ spark chamber, sending him into an overload so strong he barely retained consciousness as excess charge cascaded through his frame and raced up the chain to ground itself in the ceiling.

When it passed the chain was loosened, his arms slowly lowered to where Rung could remove the cuffs and Ratchet gathered the speedster in his arms, lifting him effortlessly. Slim fingers that could only belong to Rung gently nudged Rodimus’ spark chamber back into the protection of the speedster’s internals and slid his chest armour closed. A medical scan swept over his frame; Ratchet reassuring himself that Rodimus wasn’t actually injured despite the violence Rung had just unleashed on his undefended frame.

The instant he was able to move Rodimus wrapped his arms around the smaller mech, pulling him into a blind, desperate hug. An amused rumble vibrated through the glass medic’s glass chestplate and into Rodimus’ frame.

“He’s not going to let you go in a hurry, Rung. Just hold on, I’m perfectly capable of carrying you both to the berth.”

Rung made a doubtful noise and Rodimus tightened his grip as Ratchet hefted him higher and started walking. After a little wriggling Rung settled down, sighing frustratedly through his vents. Rodimus kept his optics offline, content to go wherever Ratchet took him so long as they all stayed together.

The further they got from the site of the punishment the more open Ratchet’s Field became, until the door of Rung’s berthroom closed behind them and he relaxed completely. Rodimus couldn’t help the purr that escaped him at the smooth, even feeling of the medic’s EMF wrapping around him. Rung had gone quiet in Rodimus’ embrace, slim fingers hooked firmly into the speedster’s shoulder joints and faceplates pressed into his neck cabling.

“So, what now?” The medic asked as he deposited his burden on the thick padding of Rung’s berth, the small mech simply adjusting his hold on Rodimus and refusing to move.

It was hard to leave the safety of the darkness but Rodimus brought his optics online, looking past Rung’s twitching antennae to see Ratchet standing awkwardly, looking uncertain despite the texture of his Field.

The speedster reached out, offering a hand to Ratchet.

“Cuddle?”

His voice was not much more than a whisper but the purring rumble of his engine increased in volume as Ratchet joined them on the berth, Rung shifting to drape himself over as much of his larger cohort-mates as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon-reasoning for Rodimus' algolagnia in this AU:  
> He was stuck drifting in space half-dead for ages and went half-mad from sensory deprivation during this. The only thing he could really feel besides the Matrix was whenever he ran into a bit of space debris, because it HURT. The hurting reminded him that he was still alive, still had a body. His neural net rewired itself to interpret pain as pleasure as well because it's a point of contact with the universe and reminded him that he is ALIVE and that waas good. (Because it kept him from going completely off the deep end)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those that remain begin to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idek what happened with this chapter

# Five

 

It was nice, cuddling on the berth with Ratchet warming one side and Rung splayed over both of their larger frames. Nice enough for Rodimus to easily ignore the lingering sting of his punishment and try to accept –even if he couldn’t understand- the fact that the other two mechs apparently still wanted to be Cohort-bound to him.

With Ratchet’s arm beneath his helm and Rung’s slow vents ghosting across his sore plating it was patently obvious that they were still here, that they hadn’t left. Their Fields flowed together, all three meshing deeply and the speedster could clearly feel the Cohort bonds between them; strained but still strong.

Except…

“Rung, are you ok?”

As usual the small mech gave the question due consideration before answering.

“Not entirely. But I think I will be.”

His admission brought both Rodimus and Ratchet to full alertness, propping themselves up to look at the smaller mech with faceplates and Fields full of concern. Rung hadn’t put his glasses back on yet so it was easy to see his surprise at the reaction to his words. He braced himself on his elbows, raising an optical ridge in a silent question.

“What have we told you about this, Rung?” Ratchet asked sternly, his Field filling with a gentle reprimand.

The orange mech seemed unimpressed.

“It is lingering conditioning and irrational fear left over from when I was being studied by the Council.” His firm insistence and innate stubbornness was easily a match for the medic.

“Is that why you ended when you did?” Rodimus asked, guilt and exasperation flashing through him. “You can use the words as well and you know it.”

Rung shook his helm and raised a slender hand to cut Ratchet off when the medic opened his mouth to say something.

“No. That seemed to me to be the best point to end the scene for _you_ , Rodimus.” His glyphs were sincere and his Field held total honesty. “It did not start to trouble me until afterwards. Reaffirming our bonds as Cohort reminded me of the last time such when such a thing happened and the results were not so pleasant.” Rung cycled his vents in a sigh, rubbing his nasal ridge tiredly. “ _Intellectually_ I know that this is not the same, but my Spark will take longer to believe; the conditioning is difficult to nullify. Every time I am with one of you it helps as it weakens those lessons and creates new associations in my processor that are _much_ more enjoyable.”

Ratchet reached over with the arm Rodimus wasn’t using as a pillow, entwining his fingers with Rung’s. The one behind Rodimus stayed where it was, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the metal of his pauldron. The speedster let himself flop back against the berth padding, settling his helm back on Ratchet’s arm, frowning up at the ceiling and ignoring the jolt of pain the sudden movement sent through his bruised sensors.

“Times like this I really wish they weren’t dead,” There was a dangerous growl in Rodimus’ words. “Just so I could kill them again for you.”

Somehow Rung managed to slither up Rodimus’ frame without fouling their armour, not stopping until he could press their forehelms together.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I would _much_ rather spend this time reinforcing the more positive lessons you have taught me about what it means to be Cohort.” There was an affectionate nudge from Rung’s Field to accompany his words. “And besides, we need to let Ratchet examine you properly before he explodes.”

It was only then that Rodimus became aware that the idle twitches of Ratchet’s hand against his angular pauldron weren’t just affectionate touches; now that he was paying attention he could hear the subtle sounds of partial transformation as the medic repeatedly suppressed the attempts of his coding to bring out some of his assorted inbuilt tools.

“Good point.” Rodimus said, sitting up and catching Rung before the smaller mech could slide right off him.

“I’m _not_ going to explode, you twit.” Ratchet growled.

Despite his grumbles the instant Ratchet’s arm was free he began a thorough check of Rodimus’ frame, going over every inch of his frame from helm to pede. During this Rodimus kept himself entertained by jokingly attempting to replicate the procedure on Rung’s frame with minimal success. When Ratchet was satisfied with Rodimus’ state they inevitably moved to caressing and fondling each other, reassuring themselves that even though the Cohort as a whole had been damaged this small part of it was still whole.

It was impossible to say who kissed whom first; inevitably though it was Rodimus’ panels that were the first to slide open. It was impossible for him to resist the combination of his smarting frame and the enthusiastic molestation of his Cohort-mates. He rolled onto his back; spreading his legs in a silent invitation to Ratchet while pouting at a very amused Rung until the orange mech came closer and knelt obligingly over Rodimus’ helm.

Ratchet’s spike met no resistance as it slid into Rodimus’ internal passage, the speedster moaning into the neat external folds of Rung’s valve array as the familiar spike sent bliss through his frame. It melded with the lingering ache and sent the speedster hurtling towards his first overload. Golden hands pulled Rung’s hips down, encouraging the smaller mech to lean on his faceplates. Rodimus nuzzled the smallest mech’s external sensory node, gently fragging Rung with his glossa in time with the slow surge and retreat of Ratchet moving within his frame.

They reconnected in the way Rodimus understood best, bringing physical comfort to each other and confirming in the most visceral way possible that these members of their Cohort were still alive, still whole. Ratchet drove Rodimus through several distracting overloads before the speedster finally had Rung writhing and bucking against his face, sobbing with release. Each overload pulled from Rodimus’ frame settled him further, the wash of energy produced by each one shoring up the strained connections between them so Rodimus could feel the small mech’s bliss clearly, and that of Ratchet too as he followed Rung on his next thrust, engine rumbling away beneath the growl of his vocaliser as he overloaded deep within Rodimus.

It was an almost physical sensation as they found a new balance together, a new shape that acknowledged missing parts but was no longer quite so threatened by the aching empty spaces where those other sparks _should_ _be_. Rodimus could feel Ratchet and Rung’s Fields pressing into him and he let go, allowing them to trip him into a final overload as their frames slumped over his, cooling systems screaming and fans whirring as physical contentment filled their frames and Fields.

They were in the middle of lazily cleaning themselves up when a tired-looking Perceptor arrived with enough fuel for all of them. Rodimus knew that even though Perceptor had next to no interest in the act of interface itself, the scientist did enjoy the feeling of his Cohort’s Fields after a nice hard overload or two. With that in mind, the speedster ensured that all traces of sticky were gone from their plating and the surface of the berth while Rung and Ratchet quietly refuelled. When everything was clean again, Rodimus invited Perceptor to join the pile of snuggling, sated mecha.

As he felt his Cohort-mates drift into recharge one by one, Rodimus decided to do something he felt he should have done time ago.

_I’m going to tell them the truth. About Overlord and Drift leaving and everything. They deserve to know._

Decision made, Rodimus followed his remaining Cohort into recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Perceptor is essentially asexual in this AU. (Yup, an ace in the horndog's Cohort. They figure out something that works for both of them.)  
> ~The Functionalist Council tested Rung's ability to form Cohort bonds like a 'normal' mech. It wasn't a pleasant experience.


End file.
